In the Mind's Eye
by MistWraith
Summary: Complete. “There’s nothing to think about, Missouri. If there’s a chance to get Dean back, it doesn’t matter how risky it is. I have to try. Dean would never let me stay in there, if things were reversed.” Sam to the rescue.
1. Chapter 1

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**Disclaimer**: None of this belongs to me, more's the pity.

**Setting**: This is set after "Shadow" but before "Dead Man's Blood."

**Author's Note****:** This story first appeared in the zine "Blood Brothers," which came out in May of 2007. It's not all that long, but I'm posting it in 3 0r 4 parts (this one is, I think, the shortest) because I realized that the final, final version that went in the zine had some late edits done that I never carried over to the copy on my computer. So I'm tweaking it when I get the time, and it should all be up in a week or so. Hope you like it!

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**IN THE MIND'S EYE**

**Chapter 1**

It seemed somehow appropriate that the sun was going down, Ra's solar disk being eaten by the great serpent Apophis, the light dying and the dark spreading inexorably across the sky. His brother's light had died as well, lost not to the natural darkness of night but to the supernatural darkness of evil.

Sam Winchester turned from the window, fists clenched. It took all of his control not to smash them against something, _anything_. Right now, random destruction held a certain appeal. Unfortunately, Missouri Moseley wouldn't agree and might frown on his putting holes in the walls of her house.

He still wasn't sure why he'd come here.

Oh, hell, yes he was. Desperation. And panic. Sheer, total, absolute panic. The hunt hadn't gone well.

_Hadn't gone well? Wow, Winchester, you certainly have a gift for understatement. The supernatural evil getting away, __**that's**__ "hadn't gone well." Your brother being turned into a vegetable? That's a fucking __**disaster**__! _

Sam had grabbed the unresponsive shell formerly known as Dean Winchester and raced for Kansas.

No hospitals. Modern medicine would have taken one look at Dean and locked him up for the rest of his life, to take care of him—_right!_—but there was no way Sam would permit Dean to be any more imprisoned than he already was. Somewhere in the back of his otherwise gibbering mind, Sam felt that if anyone could find a ray of hope in the situation, it would be someone with telepathy like Missouri's, not someone with the useless visions he had.

Because something in Sam clung to the hope—no, the _need_—that Dean was still in there somewhere, that somehow he could be reached.

Which was why, sometime around noon, Sam found himself pounding on Missouri's door, the Impala steaming behind him in the cool, late Fall air. He'd stumbled over his words, his desperation pouring out in waves, and Missouri had gently patted his cheek to calm him down and then waved him inside. Sam had scooped Dean into his arms from the front passenger seat and had gently carried his brother upstairs to the guest bedroom of the house.

That had been the last he'd seen of either Dean or Missouri and the wait, the silence, the worry, had worn Sam down to his last nerve. Night was coming and the sight of the encroaching darkness hit way too close to home.

The sound of solid footsteps descending the stairs froze Sam in mid-pace. He practically ran out of the small living room and arrived at the staircase just as Missouri reached the bottom. She looked tired but gave him a quiet smile, and Sam felt his heart leap.

She stilled his unborn question with a raised hand. "I'm exhausted, child. And you look ready to fall down yourself. We'll talk over some food."

Despite Sam's increasing impatience, Missouri said nothing more about Dean until she had cooked something up for both of them and they were seated and eating. Sam's earlier attempts to talk about the situation had been met by a warning that, "The spoon isn't only for Dean, boy!"

When they were finished and everything had been washed and put away, Missouri gestured for Sam to sit down again. She hung up her apron, wiped her hands on a dishtowel and came over to sit across the table from him. "You were right to come here, Sam. Dean's still in there."

For a moment, Sam had the horrifying feeling he was about to embarrass himself by bursting into tears. A gentle hand touched his and he raised his eyes.

Missouri gave him a warm smile and squeezed his hand. "So, just to make sure, honey, you don't know what it was?"

Sam shook his head. "I had a vision of people being mentally attacked by _something_. Ripping their minds apart. We were just looking around the area where the attacks had occurred. We split up to cover more ground. I heard him yell, ran over and found him the way he is now."

He didn't seem to notice he was kneading his hands together. "I tried everything I could think of, but there was nothing. He hasn't moved on his own, made a sound, blinked, _nothing,_ since I found him. I want my brother back, Missouri." He didn't care if he sounded like a very miserable five-year-old.

"Here it is, Sam: Dean's mind was attacked by whatever you were hunting. Dean knew he couldn't fight the attack off, so he did the only thing he could think of. He retreated and built a fortress. Barricaded himself in behind those walls and hunkered down for the duration."

Sam dropped his head in relief and smiled. "Then we just have to wait until he decides it's safe to come out."

"And how's he gonna to do that, boy? He couldn't leave even a tiny hole in the walls or the enemy could get in. So he's blind and deaf in there. He has no way of knowing it's all over. And time, it runs funny in the corners of your mind, child. Dean might think only a minute has gone by, not the almost two days it's been out here." Missouri caught and held his eyes. "And don't forget, in there he can build himself any world he wants. No more pain or worry or loneliness. His family together again, the way he's always wanted. Maybe he don't want to come back."

Sam sat frozen, words suddenly running around in his head. _I'd go back to school. Be a __**person**__ again._ He snorted. A _person_. As if Dean, for whom hunting _was_ what he wanted to keep doing, was something other than a "person." And after going almost four years without any contact with his brother, it was no wonder Dean didn't believe they could still be a family if Sam went back to being "normal." He hadn't realized the depth of the problem back in Chicago, _or_ how condescending he'd sounded and since then, the time hadn't been right to bring it up again--with Dean always fleeing at the first hint of a "chick flick moment"--or to relieve Dean's fears.

If he got Dean back from this, no way would he let any time go before he straightened things out between them.

Sam leaned forward and met Missouri's eyes. "You can do it. You can go in and tell him it's time to come out."

She shook her head. "And what makes you think he would let me in, boy? I'm not his favorite person in the world, Sam, and I don't think he trusts me enough to take my word for it." She held his eyes. "You know _you're_ the only one here he would believe. You and your father, and John ain't around. As usual." The last was muttered softly. "I could guide you in, Sam. But, before you say yes, it ain't just gonna be a stroll around the park. Your brother might have some defenses out. And you could end up trapped in there yourself. Think about it carefully before you decide."

Sam smiled. "There's nothing to think about, Missouri. If there's a chance to get Dean back, it doesn't matter how risky it is. I _have_ to try. Dean would never let me stay in there, if things were reversed."

She leaned back and nodded, then she patted his hand and stood up. "Some things I gotta do first, child. Then we go get your brother back."

**A/N**: So, how's it going so far? Chapter 2 as soon as I can.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: Still not mine. Still getting nothing.

**A/N**: Well, here's the next part: Sam heads off to attempt a rescue. Or, heads _in_! Hope you like it.

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**Chapter Two  
**

Sam turned his head

Sam turned his head. Dean was lying totally still on the other twin bed in the small room, eyes open and staring at the ceiling. Not so much as a twitch in two days. Sam could feel the desperation building again, then his view was blocked by Missouri's considerable bulk. She was smiling gently at him and he realized she had seen his growing tenseness and had deliberately taken that position to keep Dean from his sight.

"Sam, one last time: are you sure you want to do this?"

He nodded. _I'm not worried about the risk of being trapped, Missouri. There is something that scares me a little, though. When I left Stanford, I was so sure I knew everything about the family Winchester, especially my cocky, smart-ass, skirt-chasing, beer-swilling older brother, who had all the depth of a rain puddle. I was right about that last part, provided your rain puddle is the Pacific Ocean. I'm just starting to learn what I __**don't**__ know about Dean and I'm more than a little scared what I'll find in there._ But he said nothing.

She continued. "Good. I'll open a link between you and Dean and I'll keep it open. The 'doorway' will look like a bright light. If you succeed in getting Dean to come back out, just head for the light, go in and you'll wake up in your own body. Any questions?"

"Dean...do I bring him out with me?"

Missouri laughed. "I hope not, honey! Then you'll both end up inside _your_ head and I'm not sure that's an improvement. That boy's already home: All he needs to do is bring the fortress down." She looked down at him. "Ready?"

Sam nodded again and Missouri patted his shoulder. "Just relax, close your eyes and let me do the work. And don't fight me, child!"

She began to talk to him, so low he had to strain to make out the words, and then he realized it was the wrong thing to do. It didn't matter what she said; it was only the rhythm and the soothing tones that counted. He relaxed, as she had instructed, closed his eyes and found himself drifting in a soothing darkness. Then he started moving in a specific direction, slowly at first then with increasing speed.

An instant later, he found himself face down on what appeared to be a forest floor. He pushed himself up on one elbow and rubbed his bruised nose and aching head, spitting out a chunk of dirt that had worked its way into his mouth on impact. _Remind me not to do this more than once a lifetime._

Getting to his feet, he dusted himself off and glanced behind him. There, as promised, was a ball of glowing light. The way out. He hoped it would be in sight no matter where he went.

Satisfied that the exit sign was lit, Sam got his first good look at his surroundings and his mouth dropped open. "Forest" seemed a totally inadequate way to describe the place where he stood. It was ancient of days, this vast, seemingly endless vista of mighty trees, their tops soared heavenward, lost in shadows and gloom. This was no Disney woodland. No cute rabbits or shy skunks or wide-eyed deer played amidst these giants.

_This_ forest was primeval, raw, dangerous, a place "red in fang and claw." Life wasn't taken for granted here and carelessness was punished swiftly and permanently. But it was not dinosaurs that stalked the land, not here.

This place was haunted. The chill of a cemetery at midnight hung in the air and Sam knew the semi-darkness was normal here; no sunlight ever reached the ground. The howl in the distance was not wolves, not ordinary ones at least, but ones that ran only under the full moon. A stagnant pond sat a short distance away. Sam didn't even want to think about what might lie beneath the still, green surface.

_Is this really the way Dean sees the universe?_ Sam shivered and was suddenly saddened by the thought that his brother, whom he had come to admire for managing to find some laughter in their bleak lives, truly—behind the façade—believed the world to be a place of darkness ruled by the things they had spent their lives hunting.

For all the times he'd snapped at Dean and given his brother grief over Dean's flirtatious ways, right now he wished that Dean's world looked more like a Toulouse-Lautrec painting than something out of the _Necronomicon_.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Sam, but this is as good as it gets."

It was Dean's voice, behind him, and Sam whirled around, expecting to see his brother lounging carelessly against one of the great trees, smirking at him. Instead, he found himself nose to nose with a jaguar, which was lying majestically on a huge boulder Sam would swear hadn't been there when he'd looked at the spot before.

"Damn ground is damp and cold and I don't feel like lying on it," the jaguar said, as if reading Sam's mind. "My mind, my ground rules."

The jaguar stood up with a ripple of muscle and yawned, displaying an impressive array of fangs. "In case you're wondering, I'm here to guide you to the center."

"What?" Sam was totally flummoxed. "I thought you were locked away in your castle. And if you aren't, why am I here?"

"I _am_ in there, Sam. Most of me, anyway. The part you're seeing now is the part that _knows_ I'm trapped and wants out. Unfortunately, most of me doesn't feel the same way."

"Oh." Sam looked around. "Do I really need a guide?"

The jaguar gave him a wicked smile. _The better to eat you with, my dear._ Sam shook himself, smiling slightly. Not that he would ever pass for Little Red Riding Hood.

"Come on, Sammy. You have some idea by now what kind of a mess I am. There are traps here. I'm not letting just anyone march in." Jaguar-Dean leaped down from the boulder and stretched, then grinned at his younger brother. "Stay on the path; I've run across a lot of supernatural nasties in my life. You'll probably find at least one of everything somewhere in here."

They started off through the trees. A few minutes later, the narrow pathway they were on split into three directions. To Sam's right, the forest thinned out almost immediately and he could see grass and sunlight. He smiled and turned to head toward the warmth and light.

As soon as he stepped into the sunlight, the solid path beneath his feet shook and softened, and Sam found himself sinking. In an instant, the muck was almost waist-high and he was as stuck as one of the mammoths in the La Brea tar pits. At the same time, the light and grass disappeared and there was nothing as far as he could see but grayish-brown mud and small, brackish pools of water. He shivered: The air had turned icy and goose bumps were covered his arms.

There was a flash of movement to his right, accompanied by a snarl. Sam turned his head and froze: He was practically nose-to-nose with a Black Dog. It eyed him hungrily, almost smiling at its prey's predicament. It started toward him, but did not get more than a couple of feet before the jaguar, roaring furiously, slammed into the Dog. The combatants rolled back and forth, all growls and snarls, flashing fangs and claws.

The fight ended as abruptly as it had started. There was stillness and silence. Sam craned his head, staring at the intertwined forms, suddenly very afraid for his brother. "Dean?" he asked, his voice wavering slightly.

The jaguar shifted and climbed to his feet. Sam could see a where the Dog had ripped a chunk out of Jaguar-Dean's side, but even as he watched, the wound closed up and the blood disappeared. The big cat shook himself and stretched. Then he trotted over to where Sam stood, still held in the grip of the mud.

The jaguar smirked at him. "Hey, Kemo Sabe, there's no point in having a native guide if you're going to run off on your own. I _told_ you there were traps." He waved one paw at the muck. "Designer quicksand."

Sam shook his head. "What's scary is that it sounds like something you would do!"

A thick branch appeared out of nowhere, lying at the jaguar's feet. The cat grabbed one end in his mouth and pushed the other end at Sam. Sam took hold and the jaguar began to back away, pulling Sam forward until Sam could feel solid ground beneath him again. He scrambled to his feet and hurried back into the forest. Glancing behind him, he saw once again the sunlight path and the fields of grass. The trap had been reset.

"Nasty, Dean," Sam said.

The jaguar laughed silently and padded on ahead. Sam followed, turning up his collar against the all-pervading chill. Nothing, though, could fend off the feeling of unease caused by the constant twilight and the shifting shadows.

Jaguar-Dean glided onto the leftmost path, which snaked around giant trunks in seemingly endless twists. After a while, Sam wondered if they'd doubled back on themselves, the way the path constantly looped and turned. He was about to ask if the jaguar _really_ was there to guide him or just to keep him busy, when he thought he heard the sound of laughter. Very faint at first, but growing steadily louder as they walked.

As he rounded one especially long, sharp curve, Sam caught sight of something ahead and to the right. A glade, surrounded by majestic trees and bathed in a pure white light. He could see people in it, still too distant to make out. He moved closer, then stopped dead, stunned.

His father was there, as Sam had never seen him. Younger, happier, laughter on his face and on his lips, the haunted look gone from his eyes. He was on the ground, tussling with a tow-headed boy three months shy of his fifth birthday. Dean. The younger version of his brother was laughing riotously, his open face and un-shuttered eyes alight with happiness. After a few minutes of horseplay, John pulled Dean to him in a massive bear hug; Sam carefully avoided looking over at the Dean who was currently guiding him through the maze that was his brother's mind.

Sitting on a blanket next to her two roughhousing men was a beautiful, blonde woman, her head tilted back as she laughed at John and Dean. The streaming light caught her face and set it aglow. In her lap, she held an infant with a full head of darkish hair that already threatened the sheepdog look. From time to time, Mary Winchester reached down and smoothed the flyaway hair.

Sam's throat tightened and his eyes burned. Dean had created a shrine in his mind to what had once been and was now lost. Here, though, it would remain forever, perfect and pure.

The jaguar stared at the scene, then turned away. Sam thought he heard Jaguar-Dean murmur, "For of all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these: 'It might have been.'"

Poetry from Dean Winchester. Just one more surprise from a brother Sam once foolishly thought he knew. Without looking back again at what he would never have, he followed the jaguar deeper into the forest.

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**A/N**: Only two more chapters to go. How's it doing so far?


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: It all belongs to Erick Kripke and WB.

**A/N**: Here's the next part, wherein Sam continues the voyage of exploration and rescue. I want to thank everyone for the lovely reviews!

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**Chapter Three**

They walked in silence for some time. Sam knew Dean had to be struggling with many of the same emotions he was experiencing and for once, he had no intention of trying to institute a "chick flick moment." He noticed the forest was growing darker, shifting from twilight into night. A thin mist wove among the tree trunks.

His foot suddenly came in contact with what felt like asphalt, instead of the dirt he had been walking on, and he stopped in mid-stride. Sam stepped back and looked down. A road, two lanes wide with no center line, ran along in front of him, disappearing around curves to his right and left.

Sam raised his head and cocked an eyebrow at the jaguar. "Where does this lead?"

"Nowhere in particular," the jaguar replied cryptically.

"What happens if I peek around the curves? Do I fall off the edge of the world? Drop into a pit of fire? Get stuck at one of Mrs. Wentworth's recitals?"

For three months, Dad had stayed in this little town in Ohio, and Sam and Dean had attended the local school. Mrs. Wentworth's recitals, full of children who should have been shipped to Mars before being allowed to pick up musical instruments, were the local equivalent of Hell. The jibe produced a chuckle, though not nearly as hearty as Sam expected. It set off Sam's radar. He was now determined to see what lay in one direction or the other.

"Which way?" he asked.

The jaguar shrugged. "It doesn't matter. You get to the same place either way. But...it doesn't do anything for our little mission, so there's no reason to bother."

The radar was now shrieking at him. Sam smiled at the jaguar and said, "Think I'll take a gander anyway. You never know what might turn out to be useful."

Pivoting left on one heel, he strode off down the highway. As he reached the curve, he could feel the temperature, already chilly, drop noticeably, and he zipped up his jacket. The mist seemed thicker, the air heavier.

He continued to round the curve until he could see ahead of him. Not much farther, he could see the road disappear into the darkness. But a short distance ahead was a familiar sight: a sleek, black 1967 Impala. It was parked on the side of the road, silent and dark.

A human Dean was outside, leaning back against the passenger door, studying the night-shrouded forest. Sam was suddenly overwhelmed by an intense feeling of _aloneness_, of isolation and loss and emptiness.

"This isn't the me you're looking for, Sam."

Sam jumped and whirled around. The jaguar stood behind him, eyes shuttered, face impassive. "It may not be the you that's the key to getting out of this, but you can't tell me that's not _you_, too!" Sam's voice was intense, but quiet. He knew somehow it would be wrong to disturb the silence. He turned back to watch the lone, and lonely, figure again. "How can you say this doesn't matter?"

"Because you and Dad, _you_ said it didn't matter. He is what you and Dad made him." A sudden soft anger crept into the jaguar's tones. "He did everything you both ever asked of him, gave you everything you both ever wanted. And it didn't count, did it? No matter what he did, it wasn't enough. _He_ wasn't good enough. All that ever mattered to me was family, keeping it going, keeping it together, and for what? You _both_ abandoned me anyway."

Sam noticed "he" had become "me." The jaguar was pacing now, frustration, pain, unhappiness, showing in every stride.

"Going to college? Okay, Sam, if it was what you really wanted. But you...you _left_. For good. You wouldn't pick up the phone or return my calls, so I stopped trying. After eighteen years, you could just cut me out of your life without a second thought. And Dad? He made me into just another weapon he could call to his hand and then he discarded me like a broken tool. I was _dying_ and he couldn't even be bothered to call!"

The jaguar ducked his head, but for a moment Sam thought he could see, in the flickering light, a glint of a tear on one furred cheek.

"What's wrong with me, Sam? What's wrong with me that everyone leaves me and that no one cares?" The last was almost a cry.

Sam stood frozen. His mouth worked several times but no words came out. He dropped to one knee and hunched down to get as close to eye level with the jaguar, with _Dean_, as he could. He vigorously shook his head. "There's _nothing_ wrong with you, Dean! This _isn't_ your fault, it's ours. Mine and Dad's. I can't answer for Dad and I'm sure as hell not going to defend him—he should be here, he should tell us what's going on and, yeah, I damn well think he took you for granted—but as for me..." Sam looked troubled. "Well, maybe I did, too. Dean, I'm not going to apologize for wanting to go to college. Okay, the being 'safe' part was pretty stupid. There's no such thing as 'safe', not anywhere. But that wasn't all it was. You know how much I always loved school, learning stuff."

A hint of a smile flittered across the big cat's face, the slightest twitch of whiskers. "Yeah, you were always a geek boy."

Sam aimed a slap at the jaguar's head, but he was too slow. _As usual. Somehow, I never catch Dean unaware._ "It was the rest of it I did wrong. Dad and I, damn, we really got into it that night. I was so furious when I left. And I lumped you in with Dad. It wasn't fair, I know that, but I did. I held onto my anger because it helped me to get past my early fears of being on my own, of being alone. And then, I held onto it because I'm a Winchester and we're stubborn, grudge-holding bastards."

He studied Dean for a moment. "Well, Dad and I are, anyway. You're stubborn, but I'm not so sure about that last part. Thing is, I cut you off, Dean. I thought making a total break would be the answer. If I did that, disavowed not just hunting but also my whole freaky family, everything else would fall into place. I'd have that 'normal' I wanted. I know, it was a stupid idea."

Sam stood up and began to pace. He could feel Jaguar-Dean's eyes boring into him. "Remember after the whole Bloody Mary thing I told you I never felt like I quite fit in?" The jaguar nodded and he continued. "I think...I think it was you, Dean. I think there was a Dean-shaped hole in my life. I didn't want to see it, because then I would have to acknowledge I'd been acting like a total shit to you. It was easier to stay angry than to recognize how guilty I was feeling, deep down. It will never be like that again, Dean, I promise. I know you don't have any reason to believe me—especially after Chicago." He ran his hand through his hair, leaving "wings" flaring out on either side. "I don't know what I was thinking to say things that way. Hell, I _wasn't_ thinking. 'Be a person again.' Geez, Dean, I can't believe I said that and I didn't mean it the way it sounded. I don't want to spend my life hunting, but I have no right to sneer at you—or anyone—who does. You _do_ save people and that's worth doing."

Sam smiled ruefully. "Maybe part of my problem is that I _know_ there are parts of hunting that are worth doing, and I feel guilty because I'm willing to walk away from all those innocents who will end up dead if no one fights the dark things. I don't know. What I _do_ know is that if I go back to school, we will never be strangers again. I _need_ my brother in my life. It's taken me all this time to realize it. I have no intention of letting the family fall apart again." He stared at the jaguar, silently willing Dean to believe him.

The jaguar blinked rapidly a few times, as if fighting down his emotions, then he cleared his throat. "God, Sammy, were you a girl in another life?" The big cat growled and then gracefully spun around and began to walk back in the direction they'd come.

Sam smiled sadly. That was his brother: push the feelings away with a sarcastic remark. Sam feared one day Dean would crack under everything he kept piling up behind his walls.

He cast one backward glance at the lonely, silent figure leaning against the Impala, staring into the darkness.

_Never again, Dean. I promise._

They were back on a dirt path. The forest crowded it, trunks mere inches from where they walked, branches overhanging the walkway. Only scattered splinters of light were able to pierce the tangle of branches to reach the shadowed path.

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As they walked, Sam thought he heard a snuffling in the woods and the sound of something moving parallel to them. He glanced over at his guide, but the jaguar appeared not to notice, so Sam shrugged it off . After a while, though, it was clear that whatever was in the shrouded forest was following them.

"There's something there," he whisper.

"No, really? Thanks for letting me know; I'm only the jungle cat, but of course, I'm no match for your keen senses."

_Can sarcasm eat through dirt?_ Sam wondered curiously.

"Pay no attention to the creature behind the curtain, Sammy," Jaguar-Dean said. "He's not a threat to us. Well, not yet, anyway."

As if on cue, a figure burst out from amidst the trees and sprinted across the path, casting only one look in the travelers' direction before shambling into the forest on the other side. Eventually, the sounds of its passage faded and disappeared. Sam blinked. The "creature" had been hunched and twisted and covered in blood, but Sam knew those features as well as his own. "Uh, Dean, that kind of looked like you. What the hell?"

"Remember Max Miller? You were worried about your visions and that you might go bad like Max. And maybe that the damned Demon had something to do with it?" Sam nodded and Dean continued. "You think you're the only one who can become a monster in all of this? Dad forged me to be a weapon. I got praised only when I killed something. And to keep you or Dad alive, well, I have no idea how far I would go." The jaguar peered into the darkness where the figure had disappeared. "Sammy, I worry about what I might become all the time. Sometimes I think there are rivers of blood in Hell that bear my name."

The big cat started walking again and Sam stared after him. He'd never had any idea what they did, the hunting, bothered Dean or that his brother had ever struggled with doing what had to be done to protect innocent people. Guilt flared through him. He'd truly believed Dean totally blew off the down and dirty nature of the job.

Sorry, Dean. When I left for Stanford, I was so sure I knew exactly who and what my brother was. It's taken me this long to realize I don't have a freaking clue! I suspect I could live another hundred years and still not get it all. I'll make you a deal. You keep me from going bad and I'll return the favor. Fair enough?

He started off after the jaguar yet again.

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**A/N**: Almost at the finish line! I should have the last part up in a couple of days.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Nothing has changed

**Disclaimer**: Nothing has changed. _Sob_

**A/N**: This is it, last chapter! Thank you for staying with it, and for the wonderful reviews.

**Chapter Four**

It seemed as if they'd been walking for hours before Sam noticed a thinning of the trees and a steady increase in the amount of light that was filtering through the woods. There had been a few paths the jaguar had sharply warned him away from—_Danger, Will Robinson!_—and glimpses of some surprising and startling figures, one Sam could have sworn was an angel, which surprised the hell out of him as he was pretty sure Dean didn't believe in angels. At least, not openly.

The jaguar stopped and jerked his head toward a cluster of boulders on the side of the path. "We're almost there. Let's take a break for a minute."

Sam let out a breath in relief. Judging from the way his feet were shouting imprecations at him, he was pretty sure they'd circumnavigated the Earth a few times getting here.

"Getting a little soft, Sammy?" Jaguar-Dean had a Cheshire Cat grin on his face. "We'll need to have a few training runs when we get back outside."

Sam's answering glare promised dire retribution if Dean so much as attempted anything like that.

"Okay, a little farther along, the forest ends. The center is out there. It's where I've locked myself. No real walls for you to scale, Sam. Just, nobody gets in I don't want to get in." The jaguar paced back and forth for a moment. "You're probably gonna be surprised at what you see there. It'll look a little…normal."

Eyebrows reached for the sky. "Normal? You've been on my case all this time about wanting 'normal,' and that's where you take up refuge? I thought the idea of normal made you puke."

"What, am I all one shade to you? My puzzle consists of one piece? Just because I don't hate hunting, the way you do, doesn't mean there isn't part of me that wishes hunting didn't mean living out of a car or crappy motels, having four items of clothing to your name or hustling pool just to be able to afford dinner."

Sam looked a little shamefaced but said nothing, as his brother was not yielding the floor.

"I've wondered sometimes whether it's hunting you hate, or just the way we had to go about it. There are hunters who have had much more settled lives. Pastor Jim, for one, and Caleb, Bobby, Joshua, Jefferson; I'm sure there are plenty more. Dad wasn't just hunting anything that came his way; he was looking for something in particular: whatever it was that killed Mom." The jaguar hesitated for a moment. "And I know now, since Chicago, he worried we weren't just hunting it; it was also hunting _us_. So...we never stayed in one place very long, never put down roots, never got to have neighbors or make friends. I know you hated that, Sammy, but I don't think Dad believed he had a choice."

The jaguar padded over to Sam and sat down. "Hunting means something to me, Sam. Saving lives means something. And if we didn't have the damn Demon to worry about, we could have homes and lives outside of the hunt." Jaguar-Dean looked ahead toward the "center." "That's what you'll find out there, Sam. What he...what _I_ think is the perfect life: home, family, day jobs that mean we don't have to hustle or scam, and hunting. It's up to you to find a way to convince me to give it up and come back." He stood up and gave himself a shake, then glanced up at Sam and smiled. "You've got your work cut out for you, little brother."

Sam watched the avatar of his brother pad silently away, toward the clearing. As he followed, he mulled over what he'd just heard. He'd always thought Dean hunted because he was slavishly following their Dad and because he couldn't do anything else. Dean had told him otherwise more than once since Sam had left Stanford with him, but Sam had mulishly ignored the words, had arrogantly decided Dean was just in denial about the truth.

I'm starting to wonder why Dean hasn't hauled off and slugged me before now. Well, **other** than that time I tried to blow his head off.

When they left the forest behind, they were standing on a county road, one-lane either way, with gentle curves that led past houses set several acres apart and into a small town. Most of the small towns they'd passed through, stopped in, hunted near or watched disappear in the rearview mirror, had lacked the picture postcard charm of the New England villages people wrote poems about. No, the places Sam and Dean knew were dusty and tired, the buildings worn down or closed up, the main street a ghostly thoroughfare fallen victim to the newest Walmart. There were always junkyards at one end, the rotting corpses of trucks and cars in front yards, and a landscape dotted with rusted trailers behind which satellite dishes gleamed.

This town, though, deserved to have a calendar all to itself. The houses along the lane were all neat and homey. The cars were old but they sparkled in the sun. Swing seats stood on shaded porches and giant elms, oaks and maples whispered in the wind. Sam caught the scent of homemade pies and grilling meats, and his mouth watered.

The town itself looked well-kept, with charmingly decorated storefronts. Sam could make out old-fashioned streetlamps from which hung baskets of flowers. People moved along the sidewalks, laughing and talking. Beyond the town, the road continued past more homes, then open fields, before being lost in another forest.

It was peaceful and beautiful and it screamed, _home_.

Just before the town began, there was an auto body shop, with vehicles parked in neat rows. The sign over the doors to the repair bays read "B & J Auto Shop." Sam had no idea how he knew, but he was positive the "B" was Bobby Singer and the "J" was John Winchester.

His father was here and a partner in an auto shop.

The duo passed a few homes, and then the jaguar turned into the driveway of a two-story log home. A swing set on a side lawn, along with scattered toys, spoke of the presence of children. From behind the house, Sam could hear childish giggles and shrieks, and a deep laughter. Sam knew the last one well. He had heard it all his life, as it turned from the high-pitched giggle of the eight-year-old, to the cackle of the ten-year-old, to the sly mirth of the teenager, to explosive laughter of the adult. He felt a sudden sense of loss; he'd heard that sound less and less frequently over the last few years before he left for Stanford, and only rarely since coming back to the hunt. And he knew he was partly to blame for its disappearance.

As they rounded the corner, Dean—a two-legged version—was standing there, twirling two children around, one by each hand. All three of them were laughing uproariously; there was no question that a good time was being had by all.

The jaguar watched silently for moment. Then he looked down, head turned slightly away. Sam recognized the gesture: Dean dealing with an emotion he didn't want anyone else to see, working at getting his walls back up.

The jaguar grunted finally and pivoted back to face Sam. "He—_I_ have everything we want here, Sam. A world where everyone has learned the supernatural exists and we can hunt openly, get paying gigs, have a family and a place to live that isn't the trunk of a car." The big cat's voice turned wistful. Sam suddenly wanted nothing more than to be able to give his brother, who had never asked for anything for himself, his perfect world.

But not today, and not here.

"Okay, lawyer-to-be, you're on." The jaguar jerked his head in the direction of the bipedal Dean. "He's the judge and jury. Your first case, Sam, one I can't afford to have you lose." He grinned. "No pressure or anything there, Sammy." He whirled around and strode toward his human counterpart. They stared at each other for a moment, then the jaguar leaped forward _into_ the human Dean. There was a blur for a few seconds, then only the human Dean remained, standing in sharp focus.

Dean stood motionless for a moment, then he looked up and saw Sam. His eyes lit up and a broad grin flashed across his face. Dean let go of the children's hands and raced over to his younger brother, and to Sam's utter amazement, swept him into a bear hug.

"Sammy, you're here!" Dean beamed at him. "Everything's just right now."

_Damn. I was the only thing missing from his perfect world. Isn't that just great?_

Dean was still grinning. "Wait until I call Mom and Dad and let them know you showed up."

Sam closed his eyes briefly at the image—his whole family together—then shook his head. "I'm just passing through. I've come to take you home."

His brother looked puzzled. "You're not making any sense, Sam." His gesture took in the house and acreage. "See? _Home_."

"No, it isn't, Dean. And you know it." Sam could see a hint of anger in the hazel eyes.

"What are you trying to say, Sam?" It came out as a low growl.

"I think you already know. That's why part of you sent the jaguar to lead me here." He mimicked his brother's arm gesture of before. "You know you came here as a refuge against the attack from whatever we were hunting. You _know_ this isn't real."

"The hell it isn't!" The growl was not low anymore, and Dean's eyes were flashing, more emerald by the second.

"Dean, I know you want this to be true, and part of me wants that for you, too." _And part of me marvels that my big brother's idea of normal isn't __**not**__ hunting, it's being able to hunt in the open and have a place to come home to at night. If it __**were**__ like that, would I have wanted to leave?_ "But that won't change the truth. Damn it, Dean, your body is lying in a bedroom at Missouri's! I hauled your unresponsive ass back to Kansas because I couldn't think of a way to help you. All this is in your _mind_, Dean!''

"So I'm imagining you, too. Right?" There was a bitter edge to Dean's voice.

Sam shook his head. "You and me, Dean, we're the only real things here." He looked around at the house and yard, the toys, the two children playing tug-of-war and giggling, and his tone turned wistful. "I wish it were true, too. I think—I think I could really love this place. But wishing is for kids, Dean. Doesn't really work. If it did, I'd have Jess back. I thought going to Stanford, getting away from the hunting world, would make me safe. I learned the hard way: there's no safety anywhere. You're running, too, Dean, only your idea of a safe world isn't one where everyone pretends the supernatural doesn't exist, but one where everyone knows about the dark and where hunters can fight in the open." He smiled ruefully. "I think your version of safe would be better than mine." He looked at his brother hopefully, but Dean was shaking his head.

"I don't know what kind of joke you think you're playing," Dean growled, "but I'm not finding it funny. Cut it out, Sam."

Sam thought he heard the hint of a plea in Dean's voice. It hurt more than he would have thought but he couldn't afford to let sympathy or understanding get in the way right now. Time for that later. He searched his mind for the right approach. A grim smile flickered across his face. "So, what, big brother? You lied to me, huh? Blew me off with a line but never really meant it?'

Dean frowned at him. "What the hell are you talking about, Sam?"

"Let's see, it went something like this: 'So long as I'm around, nothing bad is going to happen to you.' But what you really meant was, 'Sure, Sam, so long as it doesn't inconvenience me, I'll give you a hand, you freakazoid,' right?"

"You know damn well I meant what I said," Dean said angrily.

"I do? You've gone and hidden in here, in your perfect little world and you don't want to come out. But I'm out there, Dean! Me, and these damn visions I can't control and don't want, and who knows what else. And if we can believe Meg, the Demon is out there, too, looking for us. Won't matter to you; you're tucked away in here. The Demon doesn't need to neutralize you, Dean; you've already done that for him. And you've left me all alone, damn you. You said _you_ were the reason I could never become Max Miller, and then you run off and leave me. What? Getting back at me for going to Stanford?"

Dean was flinching at every word and slowly backing away from Sam. Sam had to struggle to keep his eyes pinned to Dean's face, despite the pain he saw there.

"Why are you saying this, Sammy? I-I would never—you know...," Dean's voice trailed off. He stared at the house, desperation in his eyes.

_I'm sorry, Dean. Sorry to play the big brother/little brother card. Dad and me, we didn't leave you any dreams of your own, did we? I'm sorry to have to take you away from the one you found. But I can't do it alone! And I'm scared. Scared that without you, I __**will**__ end up like Max. And I want my brother back!_

There was a...ripple and everything except Dean seemed suddenly faded around the edges and _thinner_. As Sam watched, the house, the road, the yard, the cars, even the children, became less solid. Behind them, or rather, _through_ them, Sam could see only gray. The sky muddied from brilliant blue to the same dull gray.

And then it was gone, and only Dean and Sam remained in the featureless grayness. Dean stared at him with empty eyes and Sam ached for him.

"I don't know the way back, Sam," Dean said tiredly. "I'm...lost."

"No, you're not, Dean. You're there already. You just decided to bar the door and shutter the windows. Throw them open, and you're out."

And suddenly, the grayness gave way to massive stone walls with ramparts and watchtowers. A mighty keep stood where the friendly house had been. A massive iron gate, shut and barred, provided the only access.

Sam sighed softly. Dean's core, still a fortress against prying eyes. Or minds. It would take a lot longer than the time they'd been on the road together for a lifetime of defenses to fall.

Dean looked at him. "What about you, Sam? Can you get out?"

Trust his big brother to worry about that. Sam smiled and nodded. "I just follow the light."

"Right, Carol Anne. Just watch out for the clown." Dean threw his head back and laughed.

Sam just rolled his eyes, though he was secretly pleased that Dean was back enough to make a joke. However bad it was.

At that, the gate unbarred itself and swung open. Sam started toward the now open entrance, then stopped and glanced back at his brother, standing alone before the keep.

"You okay?" he asked.

There was silence for a moment. Then, "No, but I will be. Go on, Sammy, and don't worry: I won't barricade myself in again."

Sam nodded and walked through the open gateway. Ahead of him, in the surrounding grayness, he could see the ball of light, distant but welcoming. The walk out was considerably shorter and quicker—and less illuminating—than his walk in. He seemed to barely get started before the light was before him, and then he was inside of it, blinded by the intense glow.

* * *

The next thing he was aware of was Missouri's face hovering over him. She broke into a wide smile when he peered muzzily up at her.

"Welcome back, child. No—don't even think of trying to sit up! Gonna take awhile before you get your bearings back."

"Dean. How's Dean?"

She patted his shoulder soothingly. "Sleeping, honey. Just sleeping. He's back with us. Don't you worry about that." She pulled the covers up over him. "You need some sleep, too. A journey like this takes a lot out of you."

She smiled again and moved out of his field of view. He heard the soft click of the door closing gently. He turned his head and could see Dean stretched out on the other bed. His brother was deeply asleep, but there was something guarded about his posture. Sam was glad Dean wasn't awake; he wasn't sure he could face his brother knowing what Dean had left behind.

By tomorrow, Dean would have his walls repaired and his game face on, and they could go on as if this had never happened. The tried and true Winchester way. Sam sighed. Soon, after they joined up with Dad again and took out the damn bastard that had been plaguing the Winchester family, Sam would go back to school, and this time, he would make sure he took Dean with him. He would make sure his brother found a way to combine normal—whatever that _really_ was--with Dean's desire to help people. If they didn't have to keep running, didn't have to worry about being hunted by the Demon, then Dean could have a real _home_—not just the front seat of an Impala—and still hunt from there.

Sam smiled. Yep, soon. It had only taken this long because John Winchester had never known what they were looking for. They knew now and how long would it take the Winchesters to take it down, now that they had it in their sights?

Still smiling, Sam fell asleep.

And dreamt of an angry sky and a coming storm.

_**FIN**_

* * *

**A/N**: So, how was it? Hope it all worked for you.


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